What To Live For
by AsphyxiatedAngel
Summary: The bloody tales of Dracula.The horror of silence, and the truth that's been hidden with what we consider to be history. Alucard will find that even he can't leave his humanity behind when it so stubbornly reveals itself. Even he isn't immune to the past.
1. Chapter 1

Our story begins with once upon a time, though holds no happy ending; Because not only is the end not happy, but there is yet no end to speak of. That is the curse, and the wrongly sought after gift of those stranded on earth. Immortality. A glorious concept to those who can see the edges of their life, and don't know what comes after, a glorious concept to those who fear the oblivion of the unknown. What isn't accounted for, are the consequences. It was said, that Eveline [Eev-ah-leen] the first wife of Vladimir Tepes committed suicide. The enemy resounded on all sides, and her attempt to die was her refusal to be taken into captivity by the Turkish army. The rest of us know the myth that weaves us the image of truth that so many sought after. The tale of the Impalers' first lover, and the first carrier of the seed of immortality. Myth, legend, and history are the quilts based on one initial piece of truth, pick and choose your own.

Tumultuous change brought out the worst in people, and the largest conspiracies of chaos. Though late in the fourteenth century, you were not meant to thoroughly question the cards you were dealt, simply endear them with a grimace and do the duty your god and kingdom required you to. The people of Walachia, were poor. They were unruly. One could have called each other a criminal, that is, if there was any real law to disobey. But there were rumors that existed on the edges of ones consciousness. That it was not only the Lord who was dealing out the final judgments. These whispers declared that the new Theif of the throne was bringing justice at all costs. Something that the blood ridden land had not seen since the birth of it's own nation. The bodiless voices had declared that it was Vladimir the III. And masked personas claimed him to be the Red Dragon. It was the fearful living, however, who called him the Impaler. These sentiments drifted into every corner of their country and further creeping along with tendrils fueled by gossip. Once they reached the providence over which the Boyar Abel Durgatois had vested himself in the rumors were so far fetched that he laughed them off.

"Another Prince to bring down, Bravo! At least he's got quite the reputation, eh?"

Around him, the previously tense air had cleared, his face crinkling up into a smile that revealed his yellowing teeth. His eyes bloodshot from the strong smelling drink clasped in his meaty hand, he'd glanced over to the woman who went to clear his plate with disgust.

"And what are you doing?"

One of the other faceless men demanded of females form, her own fingers stilling on the plate. Running her tongue over her full bottom lip to wet it, she kept her eyes lowered from that of her father.

"The maid...She's been passed out since you last hit her with your cane. I was just trying to help"

Her paternal figure was the first to break out in laughter, the clones quickly followed suit.

"Well if you're going to act like a maid, why don't you dress to match?"

One of the men jided her, as the distinct feel of a hand on her rump appeared out of her father's eyes. Closing her own hazel optics she willed to still her anger. Though it was too late, and she smacked the man across the face. Hard enough to surprise, but not enough to cause physical harm.

"I may be under my father's roof, but I am a grown woman more than capable of defending my honor, sir."

She'd informed the room before another chorus of laughter. Exiting the room with tray balanced, the woman hardly knew what would go on behind her back. The departure brought another bout of somber understanding in the room, the façade of nonchalance falling away as her own father scratched the beginnings of a beard.

"When is he meant to come…?"

A noble of her own right, it was about time that she married and left this nest. Though she hadn't the will to leave her mother. Leaning at the aforementioned creature, her skirts brushed softly against her bare ankles, Eveline's pale hands grabbed her mothers face, mimicking the touch she remembered from her childhood. Her father's attitude, she had recently begun to understand, was the direct result of her mother's illness. Saving her from the highest of fevers, it was a miracle that she was alive. But the medical man said that it had melted her brain, that's why…

A sigh escaped her being, glancing down at the feather light lines over the skin of her mother whose eyes openend. A childish smile appeared on the woman before her, and Eveline's smile was just as bright.

"Hello mama."

She greeted her, as her mothers hands wound themselves in her daughter's dark locks. Eveline, however, busied her hands with adjusting her mother's pillow. And the ritual started. Fluff the pillow, feed her, take her to the chamber pot, clean her face, change her clothes. The ritual that was her job since her eldest sister married out of their direct family. As she blew out the candle in the midst of the woman's slumber. This was nothing more than preserving a corpse, but it was the corpse of her mother. The thing that chained her to this home, that chained her father to the bottle, and still she felt the deep swell of love for the ruined creature so incredibly small on the bed in the dark. The familiar spark of unshed tears appeared as she shut the door slowly.

Sleep was a tricky beast and seemed to evade you most heartily when you wanted it to occur. Scowling, she'd tossed her body with intent to make it comfortable, and instead it only secured the growing dread in the pit of her stomach. Her hands were cold, and her head was heavy as stone. She knew that it meant, it meant that the reality as those around her knew it was bending. And that someone who was supposed to have passed on was trying to speak to her. Now, she'd known since a very small age when a priest had exorcized the demon out of her, that she should not pay any attention to the phantasmic apparitions. But this one, it was gnawing on her sleep and guilt. The implorations it was sending to her mind made her feel like she was drowning under it's intent. Finally, she'd snapped up to a seated position, the dark meant nothing to these creatures, she would see them brighter than day even in the most inky of these situations. So it was no surprise when she found it over her, clear as chrystal, but she still had to bite back a scream. Her father, looked t her with soul-less eyes.

Immediately plunged into the icy depths of shock she drew in gasping breaths. And her labored silence brought the thing to speak

"I knew…the exorcism didn't work…"

Her father looked at her, even as she could look through him. Everything about the ghost was familiar. And without her knowledge, tears had started to run down her eyes her lips parting on a quivering lips that parted. She didn't know what she planned to say, what to do. The only way she could be seeing this was on the occurrence of her father's death. The vision had a trail of blood coming from her mouth, but she couldn't see any other sign of death lingering on him. What had happened, where was he, why was he here? A sob escaped her throat and he shushed her.

"Listen pet, the Prince is on his way."

He started to say, but finally finding her voice she protested violently.

"Why? Father what have you d-done?"

Something deeper than sorrow clutched at her throat as he had to hush her yet again, her shaking body making it nearly impossible to hear him.

"You have to leave…You have to avoid him. Don't think you're going to escape because you were not involved, you are my daughter and he no doubt sees you as an equal criminal, an offense against the crown…"

The words kept swirling and she didn't know how to comprehend them, in a distant voice that sounded like it belonged to a child, she heard it ask.

"Daddy…What did you do?"

It was at that point where she heard the distinct thump of a crash, causing a scream to jump to her throat. It was in the foyer, no doubt, given the sound reverberated up the twin spiral stairs. But such a distance seemed much shorter in her panic. She didn't recall thinking about moving, simply found herself running to the window. Two accompanying Knights went at the door with aggressive vigor, and two more waited behind. The only man on a horse had long thick Romanian hair, with robes made of scarlet, and the chest of his armor proudly portraying the golden shine of a dragon, and behind him, Oh god, behind him was her father on another horse, his corpse mangled and stripped of clothing, the ultimate shame. Instantly, her stomach twisted, and falling to her knees so that they wouldn't see, heaved and gagged on the floor, saliva and bile the only things left in her stomach went in a stream down her chin mixing with the tears that wouldn't stop pouring. Whirling around to look for her father even as her throat threatened to do it again, her chest heaved under sobs or her panicked breathing she wasn't sure. Her father looked at with sad eyes.

"I still loved you…with all my heart. I am very sorry my daughter, I could not pass on without telling you so, I hope it will be a long while til we meet again."

Another resounding roar of bodily force on her poor double doors met her ears, but she was numb to it now. Seeing this, she had a vision of what had been. Her older sister, her mother and her father. And they were destroying it with each thump on her door. As if reading her thoughts, her father said his parting words,

"Oh…And your mother…She won't understand. I would hate for her to die brutally at the hands of the enemy alone and confused…She is guilty of no crime, Eveline, please do not make her suffer."

And she was alone. Cold. Numb. Blinking slowly, her body shook but her mind was even. Even as she heard the distinct shattering of the last thing that kept her from the hell that spilled into her misshapened world, she kept her steps even. Turning the handle to her mothers room, she'd wiped her hand off on her sleeve mechanically before entering. The thin form was sitting, her eyes facing the wall as she inquired what was going on, before snapping at the unlit candle, saying to stop interrupting whatever important notion the wall was speaking of. Going and sitting next to her, Eveline dimly heard the declaration to stop hiding from the demons that had broken into her home. She had a job to do. The silence of the room otherwise made the air feel all too close, pressing down on her, on her mother; who now looked at her with sloping brown eyes.

"I'm tired…"

She informed her daughter's forehead, her eyes unfocused. Pressing her lips together in a grim line, Eveline's face was organized in stone.

"Then lay down momma."

She could hear the clank of footsteps, and knew she had to hurry, had to hurry. So as soon as the form went down, Eveline's eyes searched that of her life giver, looking for anything. Anything that would tell her she was doing right, and in those eyes, she found a deep peace, a love; and she imagined this had been her permission. For now it was her turn to play god. Fluffing her pillows like always, she took one from the side of her mothers head.

"I love you forever…Please wait for me, and I won't forget you."

The shell of a woman simply smiled as the pillow was pressed over her face, and only after a minute did her hands grab her daughters wrists. Feeling her mother's nails dig into her skin she'd finally started sobbing. The open door cast a shadow over her, but she didn't look up, even as the shouts directed the rest of the cretins where to go. And eventually, the grip softened, and the woman gently stroked her arm. Face twisted up in pain now, she waited til the being beneath her went limp, just as she heard the clunk of hard leather shoes entered the room, as if the man wearing them intended it to be as loud as possible.

"Now…Why did you do that, girl?"

Eveline swallowed, but did not look. She could not look at whatever had entered her room. He smelled of death even stronger than the dead did. And he hadn't ruled for more than a year. A year…It had taken him a year to track down her father, for whatever 'crime' he supposedly committed. Almost instantaneously she'd felt one of them wrench her hair, and even had it in her to feel a touch of surprise that the Devil himself found it necessary to do the honors of grabbing the daughter of a noble man.

"I asked you a question"

He informed her in a sickly dark voice that washed over her with the intent to stain her skin with the darkness it carried. Unable to really concentrated, she felt a comforting fact, that she may have truly lost her mind. And they were going to kill her. The thought caused a smile to her face, and he'd hit her for it, hard. Obviously attempting to brutalize the happy expression with his hand, to erase it's mockery, he was no doubt filled with a sense of righteousness. So she spoke up, hope of the finality of her statement would grant her an end.

"Because you were going to kill her!"

She exclaimed, her voice high in comparison. Even the guards who accompanied their Prince, and lived in the city of impalement, felt a great deal of discomfort. The cry was too raw, as was her strangling her own mother. The Devil's grin widened and he jerked her head, back to face him, her feet only skimming the ground as her thick dark hair pulled at the skin of her head with new vigor.

"Your father…neglected to come to the feast at my palace for Easter."

She was looking at him blankly, with that pretty swollen face. Swollen from tears, swollen from pain; but somber in its resolve, the woman expected him to kill her where she stood, and moments ago, he would have done so without telling her why. But her honesty had made him feel a shift in himself.

"Sir Durgatois, was a favorite of my father's and yet; he still betrayed him, you see, played a part in his death. And then! He proceeds to unjustly steal from the good people of my country. I simply had to come meet him."

Eveline blinked, shocked at the mere fact she still had it in her to even carry an ounce of surprise. She didn't have…

"Oh, I see you did not know…"

Another grin, another sick grin over his face still masked in shadow. She could not see him clearly but knew he was smiling, her gut wrenched everytime he did.

"How old are you?"

This answer, was supplied without hesitation.

"Nineteen."

The answer brought on, apparently, another bout of insanity, as she was thrust forward to the guards, her knees hitting the ground hard before barley catching herself with her hands. This position, made it clear to see her mother's lifeless hand draping over the side. Her ghost had not appeared to her, giving Eveline the peace that she understood what her daughter had done for her.

"Old enough! Where you lived through my father's death!"

The prince behind her began to shout, circling her like pray as she felt a sword draw to her neck by one of the guards.

"Old enough! To have known, and yet you do not! Old enough…to have every innocence taken from you and still your eyes hold onto it in desperation! Hardly a woman, you aren't even married…"

Crouching down, the foreboding figure dwarfed her even then. He was completely ignorant of his guards, and so she followed suit.

"You aren't married…Because of your mother, because you care for her and your father, and you work."

Eveline blinked slowly, not understanding where this was going.

"You work, and you are chaste, and a faithful daughter and friend. That is why, I shall not rip you apart, not yet, at the very least."

It was as if he'd slapped her. Eveline sputtered against the relief, struggling against it. No, she wanted to die, she had to die. She did not want to live with her mother's blood on her hands, and her father's hollow eyes haunting her. She did not want to live to see her nation curdled in blood and the endless cruelty before her. With a desperate and sudden sob, she'd thrown herself forward on the sword only to fall forward with the force of her motion when she…did not meet the sharp metal she desired.

Over her, there was laughter, swirling about her head in it's own heartlessness.

"I want them all to see…What a merciful Count I am when one remains an honorable citizen. Pick this girl up, she can ride with her father back with us."

Racking her body with the force of her silent screaming, she dug her fingers deep into the wood, til blood ran down her palms. The clear view of her mother's hand now in place as Vladimir made his way to her, lifting the pillow off the glassy eyed visage. The empty carton.

"And I think we'll take the mother with us, impale her corpse next to that of her husbands…where all wives should be."


	2. Chapter 2

Note

I am not romanticizing Vladimir Tepes/Dracula for the sake of this story. I kept him as close to history's interpretation as possible. He HIGHLY valued real members of his society, and though he obviously enjoyed his cruel methods, they were meant for good intent. Really, Vladimir was just what a lawless, godless place like Walachia had needed. Though that hardly makes him a good person, or even a bad person. In case you haven't guessed, the man was an absolute monster. I don't rate my stories casually. His line of family and of his royalty was slaughtered, he was thoroughly mistreated, there's no wonder that this wild King ended a bit stray from the pack of the sane. However, how deep do you think it goes. The 'Easter' thing mentioned in the previous chapter was the feast that Vlad first threw for his boyars and then burned them alive.

Pointless sentiments I doubt you'll read. I know I wouldn't.

But. **Important: **Eveline **CAN** see dead people. Does that clear up a couple of questions?

On to it then.

Death was imminent. The woman had convinced herself that she knew enough of death to know when it was coming, even if she couldn't yet see it's face. There was a difference between being ill, and feeling like something was entirely sucked out of you. Eveline no longer felt her own soul and had the terrible impression that it too, had abandoned her, left for heaven when her body and consciousness were meant to go to hell.

And how could she not?

Unable to determine the true span of time that had passed beneath the surface she currently laid upon, she sat in the same reel she'd been in since the instant her feet met ground after the lengthy ride. The marks on her wrists from her own mother's nails were all but faded except for the lightest pink, but she knew she would always be able to look at them with no chance of repair. And her father, oh her father. His ghost revealed the first time he'd been sober since she could remember her mother falling to the illness that plagued her til the end. Then there was the endless laughter.

Occasionally, when the roar of guilt threatened to give up for the chance for her body to slumber, the startling rip of a chord of humor shuddered through her frame. The prince, the King, and Count all lived in the same body and were the only devilish tie holding her to the world. HE'd taken her soul from heaven, stole it from her god, and now her entire family. Her poor elder sister must have thought she was slain along with her parents.

And did she know, could she know, that it was Eveline's digits that left her mother? She'd always wonder if her sister could see the same death she could. And…perhaps that was proof from the very beginning that she'd never belonged with the choir of angels. Only the demons dealt with such ghastly manners like death.

At the click, she'd been informed of the door opening. Occasionally, someone would try to rouse her, fluffing her pillows, offering food. But she'd stubbornly closed her eyes like a child, fully aware she did not have the peaceful expression on her face of true sleep. But if they really wanted contact, she would have to be truly forced. If not, she would lay here mimicking death until it finally gave into her will and she would pass on.

Or perhaps haunt the king. A vengeful spirit.

That idea was appealing as well. Though she wouldn't dare leave her parents for longer than she had to. Having justified this. The sound of the door did nothing but made the female squeeze her eyes more tightly together. Not able to make sense of the visits, given they seemed to have no set time or person. It didn't seem a surprise that she heard of nothing after that. For an immeasurable amount of time the silence met her kindly, her mind straying off it's track to listen for who might have happened upon her supposed room which she herself had not cared to even glance around. Just as her breathing relaxed, and sleep tempted her from the shadows, she felt surprisingly light fingers over her delicate throat.

The surprise was enough to make her pulse speed, or at least she thought so. If the person was checking for it, as they seemed to be, they should have been satisfied. But maybe, just maybe, her wish for death had truly been granted. She did feel surprisingly light, but perhaps this was brought on by the heartbeat that rocked into her.

Led once again into a false sense of security she found it easy to think that she was imagining the feel on her throat, and the multi colored hues opened up without expression on her face. Her mouth was so dry… It was incredibly dark, it surely hadn't been dark like this when she'd covered her optics. But she instantly saw the familiar face, the death about him being the main determining factor of who it was. The moonlight spilling in from the window behind his large frame was an angelic glow indeed, but cast him in an even darker silhouette.

At once, every ounce of breath ran out of her lungs in a breathy

"_Oh_"

Unable to see the expression, the sudden weight of the ice in her veins made her quite unable to move. And in that slight instance the touch to her supple skin had vanished along with it's giver, the only thing she heard in his wake was the click of the door.

Short. But next chapter is already in the process of being written.

I promise to update faster if someone reviews me.

PS. I would love love love an editor.

That is all.


	3. Chapter 3

The abnormality of circumstance brought on strictly peculiar dreams. The only thing constant about it was that she repeatedly found herself escaping by way of a river. In her only half lucid dream thoughts, Eveline found this to be rather ridiculous, given she'd never been taught how to swim. But instead of needing to swim, she simply didn't have to breathe. Multi-colored hues regretfully were revealed by her pesky eyelids, her body's sudden physical needs being enough to take her out of slumber. Cautiously, she rose, the room was barley lit by the beginnings of a rosy sunrise, and the deep sense of foreshadow from her dreams still hung heavy in her bones.

Her own hands felt heavy and unfamiliar, her tongue sticking to the roof of her mouth; no doubt due to dehydration. It seemed to out of character that she had somehow been roused from her deathlike trance, and couldn't help but worry herself that this was just another state of grief. Before, the numbing shock, the absolute need to die had been so overwhelming that she had not move. Yet now…

Her legs burned with energy, her hands shook from staying too still. And without explanation for her sudden energy, the creature made a sign of the cross over her own bosom, trusting god's push to be behind her impulse.

Rousing herself from the bed, her limbs protested with venomous popping, creaking like a tree that had weathered a storm for too long. Vaguely, she wondered why god would bother to give such a disheveled body such vigor. Writing it off as un important, her expressionless visage surveyed the area in the dim lighting. Two tall windows, a rather spacious room. Not lavished with the finest of jewels and tapestries. But it was all well-made, and quite clean. Not to mention, the furniture probably cost more than her home. Such thoughts weighed heavily on her, but now there was a new resolve which was formulated due to her suddenly working limbs.

I have to get out of here.

She wasn't a guest, as far as she marked. But a trophy. And damn it all to hell, if she was going to allow herself to be a spectacle that she was spoken of. Dimly realizing her own irrationality, the thoughts of family and home were cast away, overtaken by a determined fire. Her hair stuck to her from the constant bed rest, her skin waxen from lack of food. She probably reeked of sweat and despair. All the signs simply pointed to the inability to currently be human.

The dress she wore was the same that accompanied her father's corpse when she road to this hell domain. Now it simply covered another 'corpse' whose mind was so foggy that she didn't bother to question the intent of the open door of her bedroom. Prisoners should be kept under lock and key, but the click was easy and thoughtless, and the oak shut behind her so quickly she had the distinct impression it felt it could snatch her back into it's mouth.

Even while she walked, her breath heaved out of her lips as if her legs were at a heavy sprint. But when the run was broken into, her skirts dragging behind her, the need for oxygen no longer existed. Down the hallways, down the stairs, and stairs…and stairs.

Halfway through she became very aware that this must have to be in a dream, but that didn't change the intent. She saw no one, and knew where she would have to go; that river that all her dreams ended in, the one that ran next to Dracula's castle. If there were people who called to her, or even saw Eveline's retreating form, she was ignorant to them. Stopping only when she had to lift the heavy board barring her exit. The air was cold in the early dawn, and her now labored breath showed up nearly distracting her from her task.

Outside was strangely still the trees stretching to the sky in wait for the sun seemed to dense, to black against the pastel painted sky. Staring toward the inkblots as if transfixed, the woman walked toward them. The gates of the castle grounds, and the supposed guards would surely stopped her before she reached them. But they appeared. Strange. Death was clinging to the trees, and if she tuned her ears, she could hear them screaming. Her curiousity was turning into a creeping sense of horror, her golden green flecked eyes wide with the moving emotion. _What was that?_

Reality barreled her over, her feet nearly losing their footing at the screech of the iron gate opening. Where had her courage gone?

Had she left it in her room?

In the hallway?

Down those endless stairs?

Or did the prince simply have the inept ability to suck every intention out from the dredges of her soul. Even the apparent god-given energy. _And he wasn't even looking to her._ Yet. But he'd be bound to notice her. Darting to the side would mean sure sighting, and something told her that she couldn't outrun anyone with her wobbling legs. So instead, she promptly turned back, running foolishly up the stone steps and praying for her previous invisibility to the rest of the castle. But God's will did not affect the devil, and in the moment her fingers touched the towering entryway she heard the resounding call of,

"Girl!"

From behind her. It was not the shudder inducing voice of the Count, but…Half heartedly she'd turned, expecting the worst. But neither ran after her, simply walked slowly, the man to the left of Vladimir gesturing to her with a smile. The prince himself had a light smile plastered over his full Romanian lips, looking downward. Yet, the moment her eyes made contact with his forehead, even for the smallest of moments, his own optics flashed upward meeting hers with all their dark intensity and successfully knocking the air out of her. Even after her eyes moved to the ground of his previous choosing, she found her feet going back down the stone carved steps to the pair. Now, she realized that she knew the man. A Boyar like her father, she'd seen him in the day that everything had warped. The familiar face reached out for her, offering a kiss to her hand. He seemed seemingly oblivious to her obvious filth and distress, that wide-eyed expression one should only find in those whose souls had already fled to the afterlife.

"Now what are you doing here, Miss Evvs?"

The title with the nickname was a bit disconcerting. And in her current social retardation, her dry lips parted though she couldn't find a response to occupy the space.

"Is your father with you too?"

The slightly open mouth suddenly owned a quivering bottom lip which she then bit down on. Her face didn't contort with sobs, but her eyes filled to the brim with the briny liquid, spilling immediately without her consent.

"Her father has passed on."

The prince finally spoke, his low voice washing over her like ink, and stemming her tears. Though she did not give him any of her attention, instead focusing her gaze on the other man's face, imploring him to understand. _Murdered, slaughtered. He was murdered and I killed my mother…Dear God forgive me…My mother-understand me please, please…_

But by that point she'd only heard the dim apologies of her father's friend, the sudden grief stricken conversation held no sound of surprise. That was enough to switch her intent to the lined face before her, his own eyes serious, but no…Still not surprised. Had he known?

He'd invited her to join them. And not wanting to move away from the only familiar face, the only potential for freedom, she'd allowed him to grip her upper arm. They resigned in the drawing room. Like a doll they'd placed there for nothing but silent company, she held the cup in her hand numbly. Dimly aware that this was the insisted third glass of strong alcohol that had made it's way into her hand, she hadn't drank much at all. But the Boyar Durshgev had insisted it in her father's memory.

Her tears had stopped as quickly as they came, now she simply watched the two men interact. But from every piece of her observations, she couldn't determine the dynamics between the two. The prince, she dimly admitted; was polite, calm, and charming…for this instance at least. They'd downed a bottle of the strong smelling stuff, and while her father's accomplices' face showed a rosier complexion now, and his laughter was too loud; she found no difference in the calm demeanor of Vlad. Granted she was making every point not even to glance at his shoes, so perhaps her view was a bit biased.

At a knock on the door, however, a messenger caught both their intentions. Imploring for the King's word alone. He went, with completely steady steps. And for the moment of his absence a huge weight evaporated from her abused spine, and her breath went out in an even steady stream.

There was silence for a brief second before a strange choking sound caused her to look at the only other occupant of the room.

Unable to determine which was greater; the shock of seeing a man you'd known since you could remember break down in tears, or the surprise that she still had it in her to be surprised.

Without a thought, she'd stood, though her feet were a bit unsure under the influence, and she found herself stumbling. Having made it to the miniaturized version of the Boyar, she laid an awkard hand on his shoulder, rubbing as she dimly questioned,

"What…What is it?"

His words were difficult to pick at, his own voice slurred by heavy intoxication.

"He-he's going taa kill…_hiccup…_Me. Just like h-h-he killed your ol' man. Oh God. Eveline, pre-pretty Eveline."

The face, an even darker shade of red, turned up to a visage that had drained of all color, her mind uncomprehending. His large worn hands held the sides of her face.

"Yerr dad. He wudn't want ya to…give up… Do whatever you can, you know? Ta live…Yew have ta live…"

The mix of the tears that fell down the man's face mixed with the alcohol made him nearly impossible to understand, parted by a loss for words and the occasional sob. But she did her best.

"But why? Did he tell you that?"

Her voice was a few octaves higher, knocked sober by the conversation. He almost couldn't get the next sentence out. His hand tense around her face.

"H-h-h-he…Took me to the forest of the Impaled...Dear Lord in Heaven, I pray you'll never see it…He told me, right to my face, he told me…we spent all night there…I just had to keep quiet act like nothing was wrong like I agreed…but I knew it was coming, I k-knew! We all know it's coming cause…cause the Boyars of this land have taken down the kings before."

The King had mentioned this before. But hearing it straight from the source made her blood run cold.

"But this!"

The sudden volume change made her jump slightly, anxious and wound at the thought that Vladimir may return at any second.

"iHe's a monster, pet…"

Solemn, his tears drying, he moved his hands from her face to his handkerchief, blowing his nose.

"This isn't for the money…or power…He needs to be stopped. You keep yourself alive…at any cost."

He offered her a light watery smile, giving her a pat with his free shaking hand, drying his eyes. Chewing on her lip to the point of pain she'd nodded, any other response lost under the ice where the rest of her mind was.

No worries. Things will pick up from here.

See? One review, and I update immediately...

I really am too easily pleased. But thank you ImmiD!

I must warn you, I'm very easily convinced in the ways of flattery.


	4. Chapter 4

For life, predictability was a treasured position, a piece of life that you actually were aware of and could count on at almost any point. Though some of the visions that were 'predicted' weren't always sweet; and most certainly not reassuring. Eveline felt a flash of fury under her mask of nonchalance when Durshgev was called from the room, when there was an hour of silence. The only real motion was the steady droplet of condensation from her glass which then moved slowly over her finger in its path. Eyes empty she stared at the carpet, all previous energy of her previous efforts snatched from her as quickly as they came. So many things her father's friend had sounded strange muddled by inebriation and a deep fear. This brought her to the fact that she would also die. Maybe not yesterday, or the days that had accompanied yesterday, but Eveline would die. They all would. Why didn't people talk about that more often? Tell those they knew that they loved them with all their heart, why didn't they laugh a little more?

As a woman of faith, she'd been taught not to question, to just know that God would accept her into his realm if she was good, and the devil would steal her away if she had not been pious enough. But just because she saw the souls that had not been taken, didn't necessarily mean that they ever **would** cross over. Perhaps she'd taken it for granted. Maybe there was simply nothing. An empty blackness. Like a sleep you wouldn't wake up from.

Maybe that's where Durshgev was right now.

The sun had fully risen, casting a warm glow she felt should be disturbed. Why didn't he come to her in death to explain more? Why didn't he trust, as her father had, that she could see him? Maybe because…She wasn't important enough.

He would go to his family, of course, if he was to go anywhere at all. The thoughts battled around her skull until they had no room to maneuver and then she simply rose from her seat, setting down the cup. There wasn't any need for a coaster, now the condensation had faded because the liquid was used to the new room's temperature.

Hovering about the new castle, as she hadn't before, the woman had slowly gotten used to the concept that no one was reprimanding her for it. Granted, the Count at least had to attempt to keep up appearances with his caring gesture for the Boyar's daughter. Stranger though, was the fact that **none** of the help would talk to her. Some were directly rude to not even answer as if she did not exist. While others awkwardly informed her that they couldn't talk at the moment.

Strangely frustrated at the halt in her plan, she'd retreated outside. Falling by the river she previously sought, she felt a strange peace with it even as she whirled. She'd planned, to make friends with the help, and slip into the kitchen for some sort of way to poison the King. Granted, she would most definitely be assassinated for rightfully killing their ruler; but the woman found it justified. She also found, that the previously thought of simplicity of the plan had failed. She'd never met such unfriendly suspicious people. On the second thought, however, they were working for one of the devil's right hand men.

Somewhere amidst her inner monologue, she felt it drift off with the lazy flow of the river. She couldn't quite see to the bottom in some places, and it dropped off rather quickly, but it was quite clear. The way it moved, it seemed to take her thoughts with it, she could almost see them floating before her.

Entranced, her fingers touched the surface, her knees meeting the earth. Slowly but with uncommon steadiness she cupped the water and then abruptly ran it over her face. Cupping it again, she ran it through her hair, rinsing the sweat. The elation that came within her was deep inside her soul. They didn't have a river near her home, or any real running water, just wells. She'd never thought it would be this invigorating. Inching closer and closer to the edge she'd stuck her head in without a second thought. The only time hesitation was in her was when she stood, looking at the reflective surface.

If she jumped in, who know where she'd end up?

The idea was no doubt endearing. She didn't feel like she was breaking her promise as she set one foot in after the other into the current. No, because it wasn't positive she would die. Maybe some primitive instinct would take over and she would swim, maybe it would take her out of these castle grounds, and she would end up in a well. Unbeknownst to her, that was not the nature of rivers. And even now, it threatened to pull her along, lapping at her ankles like an eager dog, like children tugging at the hems of her skirt. She began to raise her arms out by her sides when a calm baritone resonated behind her.

"What are you doing?"

This should not have surprised her. But given she was coming down from cloud nine, she could only slowly turn after the initial jolt back down to earth. He spoke again.

"You did not wait for the Boyar's return?"

He questioned. Working at the speed of light underneath her exterior, the woman forced lip to curl into a slight upward motion at the corners.

"Boyar Durshgev informed me that he would be returning home today, I figured that he left."

As an afterthought, her eyes drifted to the dark prince's steady black hues. It was…painfully difficult. So much death; and yet it was like looking into the sun for too long. She was almost certain that she would be blind from it. With sacrifice came victory, however, and he was surprised at her civility, perhaps even disappointed? She couldn't tell, not truly. But he most certainly dropped pretense of small talk, and raised a hand.

"Get out of that river."

Her frame didn't response. Frozen as before, but now tense in its solidity, she stared at him as if not comprehending. Dimly, she realized that denying him the right to order her about would make everything so much worse. Apparently, her brief footing in his land of surprise landed her into a world of apparent physical contact. Her left hand, still floating slightly away from her hip in the near spiritual reaction she'd been having was snatched from her direct control. For a prince, she found it strange that he did not abide to the lack of humanity. He could touch people, and he felt warm, and human, and well in this case painful. She was under the impression that those in the ruling class were meant to be untouchable to others, to sit in their thrones. Not go about making direct orders. So why didn't he follow the rules that all the others made before him? Why did he feel the need to directly slaughter his enemies, his boyars, and to take responsibility for the wretch currently standing shin-deep in a river that was turning the edges of her lips blue. Which had, of course, escaped her notice.

Instead of ripping her arm out of the socket, the harsh grab served as nothing more than to deliver the impulse for Eveline to listen and obey. He even dared to make the pretense of helping her from her water life. Right then, she made the promise to learn to swim. But only after the creature before her had stopped breathing. The death that coated his skin was so tangible that it sent a shiver through her spine, and she obediently made way from the flow.

The smile she fought to her surface faded like a light, but she did as he said though it pained her and went to walk along its edge to get to the castle doors.

"Where are you going?"

He was bemused; she could hear it in his voice. She stilled, looking back. Playing her hand so close to her chest, there was no chance of him seeing which suit she was going to lay down next.

"To eat. You see, I'm famished…I trust I am still your guest and am allowed to eat?"

She was bordering on disrespectful, in fact, dancing on that border in a mocking manner in a way that made the patrol question whether that was enough to shoot the invader regardless no direct lines being crossed. Complicated.

"Then you will dine with me tonight"

That was abrupt. She wondered if that's what he'd come to inform her personally. That seemed silly though. He seemed much less frightening outside. Granted, her insides were shaking, and boiling with the ultimate form of loathing because of him before her, but he didn't appear to be so much of a giant underneath sky.

"Oh, of course."

Once again, her agreeable nature, despite the obvious hatred that lit her up from the inside out, had caught the blood drenched creature to take a step forward. To observe her more carefully with a look on his face that Eveline could never hope to be able to read.

"…I'll have someone prepare a dress more suitable for a woman at a royal table."

Was all he said. Suspicion heavy in the air, spines tense, and fingers trained for battle. She'd offer a grateful smile, then the lightest of curtseys. Let him be suspicious. It wouldn't change anything.


	5. Chapter 5

Everything tinted in the degree of unfamiliarity, slipping on the dress was like slipping into another person's skin, making her head spin until she felt dizziness creeping up on her. This, however, might have something to deal with the many fabrics and the tightness over her soft abdomen. Dimly viewing herself, she felt no rising degree of vanity or displeasure, feeling completely unattached to the woman reflected at her. The silence in her room was unnerving, the other person in the space completely not worth mentioning, given the conversation had been about as thrilling as a writer's block.

"Hello there"

…. "How did you come to work here?"

… "Thank you for helping me with my dress, is this trouble to you?"

…. "How old are you?"

…. "What's your name?"

The completely one sided conversation had been met with nothing but eye contact further concentrated on the dress sucking itself onto Eveline's form. And just as help went out of the room, she gathered up the woman's previous belongings, no doubt ordered to take them god knows where. A scowl crept up on the boyar's daughter, painting itself on her Romanian-pale skin.

"Can you even understand me?"

Finally, the stout form turned to face the uptight, nearly regal form of the proud woman who was facing away from the mirror.

"Prince Vlad would hardly let someone live in his home if they could not understand when he spoke to them."

The fact she spoke was not completely unexpected, though Eveline really did rely on the notion they should echo in such a heavy silence.

"I would wash the grief off my face, if I was you"

Having left with that, leaving the only other in the room to lick her lips and close her eyes, she found herself in a circle. There was so much quiet in this house and so much disquiet for justice and God himself, and yet the vehemence existed shifting beneath her skin, and yet she observed it from an omniscient view point. Stowing away thoughts of her father, of her life, of Durshgev, then she could pretend she was still at the river. Because in her mind, she'd already jumped into it, now all she had to do was follow an overpowering current.

The pull brought her outside of the room, down the steps and into the dining hall next to the foyer. Even before it was in view, deceit's cloak was pulled from her eyes. Surely enough when she got into the room, the woman found herself quite alone in the new area. The only chance of food seemed to rely on the glistening platter where the food should have found itself.

Pulling the breath into her lungs, she released with a scowl, then proceeded to turn about going into the foyer, to the left this time instead of the right, and found herself in the throne room. Seated on his throne the untouchable royal image had thrown up yet again. And still, before him, a man leaned down kissed his shoes as he bowed low. Normal behavior of gratitude, and yet she found disgust rising in her throat. As her eyes marked the center their attention, the weight they carried perked the young prince's interest and he looked to her.

The simple glance injected a harsh winter into her veins, blowing through her body, and surely shaking her physically if she found she didn't have enough pride to withstand it. It was over nearly as fast as it had begun, she obviously didn't hold the level of interest needed for a prince's attention. That realization in tow, Eveline's steps would have led her easily out of the room, and perhaps into the river. But beside the commoner who worshipped his ruler, was a gray but solid farce of the living. The apparition was elderly and though she could not see his face, he faced Vladimir with the same intent as the one who was kissing his hand, she could tell he was elderly when he'd died. Finally, her ears did their proper job to hear a human voice.

It seemed strange, at first, that the world was passing beneath her feet, and that each individual still lived without knowledge of what monster ruled them. But the words she heard uttered to the Count were familiar, and got her hooked.

"…That I should ask you for his affairs, though I hardly see why, he was a crazy old man, went mad after his wife's unfortunate death. Which you saw to properly, and I mean, she was a wretched woman but-"

The words tumbled, apologizing as much as he was asking and pleading his story all at once.

"But I can't find the will anywhere, my lord, and he had twelve grandchildren, and four sons of his own besides me. We don't know who to give the money too, and we thought, that perhaps, he'd shared it with you?"

Basked in everything he represented, including the dragon insignia on his shoulder, Vladimir Dracula stared down at this man for a moment. Eveline's eyebrows raised inconspicuously. Until seeing him against a man who was barley in his thirties, Vladimir was an ageless being in her mind. Not human, and therefore, no need to be marked where he was in his satanic version of immortal life. But now, the dark beginnings of a soft beard covered a completely alabaster visage, thick midnight hair fell down past his shoulders in unmistakable youth. He couldn't have been twenty five.

The breath previously holding her warm from the previous glance had now stilled, it was such a strange and humanizing revelation. Only then did the lord's answer make way to her consciousness

"I'm afraid he would have shared it with my father, if at all...yet…"

A pause, and she felt a thrill from the center of her chest when the man seated on the throne rose from It and made a gesture toward her.

"But I reckon that girl there could give you the best insight there."

It sounded ludacris to a stranger, she was sure. But there was no hesitation where the man leaning down turned abruptly to her stationary form, an empty look clouding her features.

"Ma'am…Miss"

A blink, a mild tilt to the head, and she wetted her lips, hazel optics flickering over to the dead man standing in the throne room behind his son.

"What do you think I should do?"

It was said with such honesty, and conviction. Apparently, if Vlad said that she could help him, that meant that there would be no doubt to think otherwise. Despite the fact she was obviously the third wheel in the situation. Yet looking to the worn face above his son, now looking to her with the same curiosity. He spoke with a bit more caution. Death wasn't so affected by royalty as the common living man was after all. Eveline's words followed the elderly man, attempting not to pay attention to the weighted gaze she felt from the centerpiece of the room himself.

"I…I think that he would like you to split it evenly. But…His horses should go to his third born, because he's not yet found a wife, and a man should have to do something with himself. So, he gets the horses."

Blinking again, she looked at the now baffled man, his face drawn and pale as if he'd just seen a glory filled but horrifying light exuding from her.

"A witch…?"

He finally spoke in response, causing his late father to laugh, which of course was heard by no one but her. The prince, however, had stepped down and put his hand on the back of the commoner's shoulder.

"No no, she is a gift from above. Now you have your advice, go forth in confidence."

Dinner's silence held none of the many bounds that she'd gone forth in her opinion of the prince. Granted, she'd only gotten to the level of possibly not using the powder tucked between her breasts. The vicious color of the purple flower which had once been beautiful in her eyes, was now a weapon, ground up and evidence burnt. But those eyes he used across the table, never looking to her, or seeming to acknowledge the need for civil conversation, ascertained her need to do this. It was slow effecting, and looked much like the flu from the one case she'd seen in a dog, and the two cases she heard of people. And she was sure that four of the flowers would be enough to do the trick. Though they didn't dissolve very well, and he would probably see the dredges at the end of his glass through the wine, once he took a sip, he was surely doomed. The tense form caused a light flush on her face, but nothing was better than medieval lighting for hiding such infirmities. And if he suspected her for poisoning him and sentenced her life to death and her soul to hell, then so be it, at least she would die in the comfort of knowing he would follow her shortly after. The thought caused the ghosts of a smile on her full lips, her eyes downcast to the food before her.

"What is that for?"

Broken out of her thoughts, the female looked to her accompaniment with a vacant mind.

"What are you smiling for?"

He repeated, a smile appearing on his own face in its own sweet time, though his dark eyes were dangerous in their glitter.

"Nothing, I was just thinking."

The answer came more normally than expected, though her smile had now completely vanished and she cleared her throat. He paused, leaning back in his chair, with a thoughtful finger placed on the edge of his golden cup. Not comfortable at being observed, at least by those god-forsaken hues, the woman turned her intent to chewing off the inside of her cheek. Which, at the moment, was more appealing than the thought of food.

"Damn this light."

The sudden proclamation caused her to raise her eyebrows.

"Come over here, I can't tell you from my own mother in this hall."

The sudden order was not any suggestion, no doubt. And without any real thought, Eveline's form rose, touching the front of her thighs to smooth the dress before walking easily over. It was a daunting task, her mind found itself quite worn out despite the short trip,, but her body screamed for the wish to it have been much longer. To prolong the wait of being in such close proximity.

"Ah."

He said finally. One of his hands staying atop his knee, the other resting on the table. And he was still smiling. The sudden fear crept like a draft over her, that he knew. That any second he would plunge his hands into the front of her dress and reveal her secret. She would try to explain herself, but fail, she would fail. Just as her breath would quicken, the servant's door opened, and seeing that the lord had not yet completed his meal was about to shut. In some wild need to take the attention off of the man's smile, she found herself blurting out,

"It was a lovely meal!"

The nearly hysterical compliment rang humiliatingly in the mostly empty hall, and the woman peeked her head out.

"My compliments, ma'am."

Eveline completed breathlessly. This silence was more awkward than them all, until the low chuckle of the seated lord came to surface.

"Well accept the compliment correctly, Darcy."

Vladimir's amused tone was nearly bored now, as if this was to be expected and therefore trivial. The woman was flabbergasted, however, and came to her side rather quickly, moving to bow to her lord before addressing her.

This instant moment was when his face turned from Eveline's, and when the assistant of the cook was not watching. When no eyes were on her, except the shamed eyes of her God, and she was on autopilot. Dragging out the paper she dumped it into the cup in the same instant she'd thrown it away from all of them. Her heart loud enough to drown out the polite gratitude of the woman before her, and her soul sung triumphantly.

Expecting the woman to leave so she could finish her damn meal and run upstairs to no doubt hurl what she'd just eaten, Vlad seemed to want to strike up a chat with this particular person. Posing polite questions which obviously embarrassed and flattered the creature to no end. With the tone of finality he asked,

"What year is this?"

Referring to the tainted wine before him with a loose gesture. Never having gone back to her seat, Eveline imagined she could see every pore, every hair on their head, and every emotion passing them. And felt a chill at the thought.

"I'm not all that sure."

"Oh?"

Raising the cup, her vision spotted slightly with the stress of it all, and nearly collapsed when he said the next fateful words.

"Try a sip, tell me what you think."

The rag adorned individual was almost as surprised as she felt. Though with a haunting abandon she saw the small hand reach for the cup. At that moment, Eveline saw death's face, waiting for her, for the woman, and for the Count, all of them disappearing under the devil's cloak to be forever burned in flame. Barley stifling a sob, her mouth filled with blood as she finally bit into her cheek with too much vigor, though she ignored it.

The conversation, however, went on, though Satan's right hand man refused to let his eyes leave her face save for a brief moment when he offered a nod to the woman's smile and gracious nod.

"Be off, and sleep well."

Looking to the drink, swirling it gently he mused,

"We would not have had this, had our country not opened up to trade."

He bade his servant good night, lowering his own lips to the goblet, with a thoughtful pause.

"Spain's burgundy…My favorite."


	6. Chapter 6

Heyyyy. There's angst in this chapter. Is Dracula too human. That's cause he is right now. But it's okay if he seems too human to you, cause I forget he was theoretically not an immortal bad ass at one point. It's cool. We're cool.

I'm pushing out these chapters like a Mormon mommy whose baby cah-razy. If that's offensive, you can stuff it, my best friend's Mormon and HE said it first. Faster shorter chapters mostly cause I'm just setting things up. But things are going to get damned dicey soon. I'll update tomorrow if I can, actually, reviews do so encourage me!

Love to those who've put my story on their alerts, and sex to my reviewers, and I might as well marry those doing both at the same time. (PS. I am not actually a prostitute) And I don't own Dracula, or Hellsing in this reality.

Facing the concept of death was easy. Waiting for him, however, proved to be a much bigger challenge. Once the cursed evening had met it's end, she found herself on the ground, rolling, holding her stomach in the weak attempts to keep the food where it had so fondly made it's home. She was going to die.

This had been a completely acceptable consequence had it not been for the guilt proudly displayed through the sweat on her brow and her form on the floor. That damn woman, that stupid woman had done what her ruler had requested her. Why couldn't the meek creature have had a touch of strength, to recognize the rare kindness of the count? This sort of gesture had been so far from kindness, even the devil would have raised his eyebrows in mild shock at the shameless display.

"Ugh!" the breathy sound was a near sob, her hands beating down on her forehead. Lost in the convictions that had yet to be fall her.

Apparently it was to end in silence. Death came swiftly, and noiseless into her lungs and stifled the last cough she was prepared to make before she'd paled and fell in the servant's quarters. No one spoke of that death. And her murderer was just as silent as the victims and bystanders. This was unnerving for the representation how little each person meant in a society. But mostly unsettling was the quiet. Because if a Prince had died from the same cup that a commoner had sipped from on the same night. Then such things would not be so quiet. There would be uproar, chaos, and the war between the Turks would have surely been over, because they would have won. So why was everything so quiet.

On the same floor she'd condemned herself on the night before, Eveline realized something more horrible than what had put her there in the first place. That only one had died. One had died from the violet blossom that refused to leave her mind's eye. And the other one walked.

Empty eyes observed the floor with the same apathy that started the moment the tears had stopped. A coma appeared to be easily induced in this room she found. This time, when someone slipped into the door to check on her, it wasn't so easy to do it subtly, given she hadn't made it much farther into the room than the doorway. Now there was this awkward silence, of her dimly aware (but decidedly not replying to) a pair of boots a half foot from her head.

"Are you ill?"

It wasn't a surprise to hear the voice of satan, she'd been hearing it in her head almost since she got in this damned castle anyway.

"Yes."

She answered the hell prince, putting her hands over her face. There was a pause, and he sized up that pause with the same stern expression he faced life with when the smirk wasn't present.

"Then why don't you get into bed?"

Digging her nails lightly into her forehead, covered in the safety of her hands at Dracula's feet, she took in a breath and held her lips around it's entirety.

"I don't want to…"

This time, the smirk covered his lips. Shifting his weight the cloak billowing out around him like a fallen halo as it settled on the ground, his knees bent, arms resting on top.

"But sick people always want their beds."

Eveline couldn't help but want to point out that it wasn't her bed that was in this room, but due to the close proximity of a man supposed to be long dead, all she could do was fold her lips behind her hands.

"And since…you don't want your bed, then you must not be sick."

Hollowly she felt a hand on her hair, not running through it, but petting her like a dog.

"And since you aren't sick, this a waste of my time to be on the floor here, given I apparently have to beg a woman who can't even behave as a proper guest should."

What happened next, was a great deal more physically painful and still a relief on a tired mind. Lifting her up by her hair, so that her back arched to a painful degree, one of his knees resting on her lower back. Removing her hands slowly to look at him upside-down, she offered the barest of slightly sarcastic smiles.

"You're right, my apologies"

With the sudden release of her hair, she would have slapped to the ground, surely snapping her nose, but her hands were shields yet again, and she attempted to turn but still found his knee pressing into her knee. Looking back at him, she had the resounding feeling that the death wasn't just on his hands but it was inside of him. No longer looking at a person, but looking at something incredibly more…tangible. Like something meant to stay on this world permanently. Something immortal.

There was the sudden return of sensation. Reality hitting her like the recoil of a bent tree branch to the face. The pain in her lower back, and her hips digging into the floor. The sensation of the stone against her fingers, the real exhaustion of her body. Everything was suddenly incredibly physical. The realization was, horrifying, and deep, like looking into something that suddenly repeated its image a hundred times over. So instead of failing to move, she simply didn't try, fixed on a pair of eyes that held the strangest undertone of red. Everything seemed red.

"Well. Then do try to do better."

He informed her in a wry tone, perhaps a bit slowly, attempting to decode the mystified look she was giving him now. She hoped he would write it off as possible stupidity.

He left. Which was natural. Given that she suddenly had purpose back, and it would have been convenient for him to stay. So of course he would have left at that point. The more she thought about it, the stranger it seemed to call Vladimir a 'him'. Not so much of a man, though decidedly not a woman. More of an entity of sorts, something that was currently beyond her scope to decide. Finding herself in front of the mirror, even her own face was starting to look like a stranger lost in a different body. The marks her nails left in place on her high forehead, incisions into her consciousness. She was meant to be a public display as everything was in this place.

It was all politics. No matter what he was, this was a man ruled by politics. She was here as a public statement as to what he could do to his enemies and then raise those who met his expectations. His father was his enemy, he killed him, and took his daughter. Who was now meant to look doting and thankful to the count's kindness. It was the desocialization followed by the resocialization of an entire scarlet stained nation. And all the power came from the pits of hell, fueling that sedentary beast trapped inside a man's body. They said that he didn't cry when he was born, that he had been a brilliant albeit violent and frightening throughout the majority of his life. They said his presence was unworldly, that you wouldn't meat another like him. Eveline was going to make sure that his influence wouldn't pass much further. Which means she had to try a lot harder in her conviction. The occasional smile wasn't going to throw him. But already she seemed to have something that kept him from slaughtering her, perhaps nothing more than sick amusement.

It was easy to see that she was no different than the people he watched impaled on high stakes, slipping down in the ultimate torture before their bodies gave one last shudder and relinquished. It was like he was already watching the blood pour from her lips, and her naked body slipping down on the wooden stake framed only by the moon and the forest of the impaled. This was somehow comforting, in that she felt nothing could get much worse.

In the course of the next week she found her course plotted, and could no longer delay building her deceitful web. It was late, so late that it was early. But she'd made sure to change into clean clothes, washed her face, and brushed her dark chocolate locks away from her visage. And Vladimir was always awake at night. It didn't take an investigation to figure that out. The knock at the door was met with no real answer, other than a 'hm?' she wasn't fully sure she heard. Stepping in slowly, out of feigned manners rather than caution the woman entered, a steaming cup in herself quickly reflecting on the prince's position. Hands at his temples, elbows on his desks, like a child attempting to learn something difficult. It was not shocking enough to be considered a surprise at the circles under his eyes revealed by the candlelight, but it was enough to make him look human if only for a moment. Til his eyes took in who it was, and he straightened up, leaning back in his chair, his wide gestured hands easily sweeping over the papers to cover them.

"Yes?"

The same dry questioning tone as before, but no held with the air of authority. She couldn't help but remember the last time she'd had anything to do with his drink. And his…obvious awareness of what he'd done to his drink was nearly as frightening as it was embarrassing. This one was not poisoned, however, but had the potential to be much more deadly, hopefully. Deciding not to speak, given that she could hardly know what to say or how to say it, she took the necessary steps to the desk, setting down the cup without a sound. As he looked to it with a bland expression she then felt the need to explain.

"It's from Europe…It's tea."

Wetting her lips, her stare only lingering to the cup.

"Your…Ah, the trading system that's been set up, seems to be working well. We've never had tea before."

The butterflies in her stomach were decidedly apparent. Though she couldn't help but wonder if they'd replaced their wings with daggers.

"It was good so I brought you up a cup."

Looking to him once more she found his attention had been on her the whole time. And still he was silent so she continued to explain.

"It's cold tonight and it really warms you up."

Still, silence. And despite her own words, she felt her skin heating up a dim feeling of panic settling on. She felt that if he couldn't say anything than something awful would happen. Not knowing what made her heart quicken. His face was patient however, waiting for her to go on. Kept asking more of her with a silent gaze, he wanted her to keep giving until it hurt. Yet shouldn't he be able to tell that she was already writhing in the pain of it, even before she knocked on his door this evening? Touching her fingertip to the desk, her eyes to the left and down away from that eerie stare.

"I just…Am quite sick of being alone."

The words she'd said simply to fill the silence struck a chord she hadn't expected it to. And it's note seemed to ring true. A legitimate shock given she'd thought she'd left that far behind. Was she so desperate for the quiet to end that she would break it with that statement of all things? No, that wasn't it. Eveline could not, and would not even consider it an option to break her vow. Yet with every passing day she fell deeper and farther into death while the man before her still lived so obviously so unfailing in his plight. She couldn't help but feel that if the nightmares would stop, if someone would just talk over the screaming that was in her head, that she could be sane, that she could carry out her task. She felt a pressure on her face that had a remarkable resemblance to what felt like repressed tears. And still he just looked at her politely, listening to whatever she'd spew, apparently.

"And no one else will converse with me, or look at me. I mean I can't-"

This time, he cut her off.

"And you think I will?"

Regardless of one's opinion of who they were speaking to, any rejection was a bit of a sting when you were already caught In the spiders web, toyed with as it crept closer. Not knowing what to say, her lips hardened into a line, her hands repeatedly pressing into each other, taking out the discomfort and shame.

"…sit down, Eveline"


	7. Chapter 7

She hadn't yet thought the count as a man of politics before this night. But the roots showed through more strongly than she would have guessed possible even in the most noble of rulers. Even when his eyes trained away from hers to the book on his desk, or the tea in his hands, the questions never stopped. Rarely commenting on the answers she gave in any other form than yet another inquiry, the impaler was a perfect communicator. Granted, he received his title from a birthright, but apparently the skill to communicate was a gift passed down in blood. Dracula, meaning Son of the Dragon, who was his father. Looking at him now, he wasn't so much of a dragon though she was unable to find the subtext revealing his nature even in the first extensive contact they'd had.

Before, this attitude he was giving her would have softened her tender heart. Now, she found it put yet another coat of steal over its casing. Before where she would have seen a complex creature, she couldn't help but to now feel complicated in that his true nature could not or would not reveal itself no matter how many facades he ripped from his face.

Her answers to the farce of a man were short but with complete honesty. Not only could she not get a reading of any real dose of personality from him, but to further complicate things, she could tell he still patronized her. Though for any sort of dignity, Eveline found herself quite unable to find any wording that openly discouraged her presence. Therefore, unable to call him out of it, her eyes lowered farther and further until they sat on her fingers currently pleated on her skirts.

Just when she was questioning her own insane judgment on the choice to converse with this man despite the benefits it may reap at a later time, the silence that befell him after hours of light conversation drew her eyes back up. Thankfully, he'd not been looking at her but out at the window. A moment of silence stretched on to t he point she could no longer remember what they'd been conversing about. To relieve herself of the unease that settled with the weight of a soundless room, her lips parted though she found no sentiments appropriate for breaking such a quiet.

"Leave"

The stern word surprised her eyebrows enough to raise off the scowl previously dominating her features. His face turned to her fast enough to make her recoil at meeting his eyes. The fierce gold appearing near red in the infant light peaking hesitantly over the Carpathian mountains to the east. In one fluid motion he had stood and even with her delay, she'd nearly tripped over her own skirts, and then nearly the chair. A thrill of fear both shocked her, and caused a dead heart to beat after it was spoiled so long for not being touched in such a manner. He made a move to go around the desk as to personally see her to the door, though she'd left him behind quickly, cowardice being the only thing she left in her wake.

Once back in her room, the adrenaline had made the trip quite fuzzy. In fact, the vagueness of her memory made the whole ordeal seem unrealistic. In fact, looking back, she could not remember a single word he or she, had uttered the entire time. The sun burned her eyes to the quick, dilating in a near painful manner in spite of it barley having risen. Going to the window, her body folded demurely on top of the chair, she dimly watched the ground beneath her, feeling as if she should not remove her gaze for the penalty of missing something important. In truth, the Count soon appeared, walking on foot, without his cloak out onto the grounds, easily recognized by the length of his hair. In that moment, her head dropped onto the windowsill, she hadn't felt so honestly tired since working on her father's vast lands. Unnaturally so, in fact, for she found herself drifting even in the ache of her position.

Upon waking, she had the distinct feel of someone tapping on her head. A strange sensation barley pulling her to the land of the living. Her eyes felt swollen, her mouth dry, and her limbs were numb with a profound slumber. It was the discomfort of her position that really woke her. And strangely enough she found herself faced with rain drops running down the window which she'd used to spy. A soft sound of displeasure escaped her throat, brushing back her hair and stretching her neck, she noted the heat emanating from her skin, nearly feverish. Perhaps that was the cause for the watered memories of last night.

She'd spoken with her father's executioner and her prison guard, the sheen of his nearly wild hair and the deep scarlet of his lips were implanted in her head, and she could see the lips moving in her memory, but could not remember a single word that had escaped them. Feeling under a spell even as she watched the trails of water make their purpose down that window, giving her the strange sensation of being lifted as they continued to fall. The memories of her dream represented the uncertainty of her own scattered thoughts. As in life, she had a vision of speaking with Vladimir, though this time she could recall what had been said with a bit more clarity. They talked of the wolves, and their loyalty and ferocity had created a hierarchy very similar to that of humanity, in her opinion. Though the Count had given his head a light shake.

"The wolves loyalty is not represented in the majority of our population. They are far more virtuous without even knowing what virtue is."

Because this had been a dream, she had crossed her hand over his. The pallor of his skin suddenly turned to that of a dead man's and even as she watched the back of his palm, blood ran from underneath his sleeve, touching her fingers. Knowing that something horrible awaited her when she looked to his face, Eveline's eyes were reluctant in the face of terror. Instead of finding the injury that would explain the cold feel of death on his hand, she found the blood dripping from his lips which spread into a smile at her connection with his own scarlet orbs.

The sound of a clearing throat alerted Eveline from the dream's poison to what had initially stirred her from the depths of a coma nap. Shifting so that the creature was in view, and much closer than her preliminary assumption, she found herself facing the man of her nightmares. Her mouth parted in a slight O though back to the numbness previously clouded over her, she did not flinch when he lowered himself politely on the seat next to her. The length of the couch would have permitted space between the two, but she felt his knee touch the outside of her thigh. Nearly expecting it to be cold as it had, she found she was partially right, though it was more than likely associated due to her more intense warmth that her body inflexibly seemed to hold onto today. Looking to him held no tone of the fear she'd felt so strongly the night before and the silence was just a normal one, his gaze focused on her face. For the first time, the monster had a flicker of doubt, and from the pale cloudy light focusing on him, she could see the faintest of lines creased from a light scowl that had painted itself over his pale face.

"You have weighed heavily on my thoughts today, Miss Eveline."

A pause, him waiting to see if she would respond, instead, she'd shifted a bit more to an upright position, one hand straying on the windowsill almost as if ready to hoist herself and jump out of the glass. Noting this, he'd placed a hand chastely on her lower thigh where his knee previously made light contact with. This, however, did nothing to calm her, the strength in even a loose gesture made the creature feel like steel, unbreakable compared to her human skin.

"When you fled from me last night, I questioned my own motives for I felt that you still need great adjustment to this home. I was previously unaware of this."

Attempting to recall what he was saying, she couldn't help but feel the falsehood in speech. She had not fled with him without reason, of that she was sure. The terror that coated her mind and body was unnatural in it's strength as if she'd suddenly become hypersensitive to a predator. He continued even in light of her obvious confusion, as if he could plow through it. Shifting his hand to her face lightly and with perfect stillness, his head tilted. The previous humanity she saw, was vanishing from him. She rarely saw the transformation, simply took in the changes it provided. The detail she found was something with his skin, as if it suddenly became indescribably smooth, his eyes forever empty and carrying no sting of familiarity to any other orbs.

"You have my word to not let you live in alienation any longer, you will begin spending the majority of your time with me."

A smile that she supposed was an attempt at a softer expression began to take over his face, though all she could picture was the blood his lips so closely represented in their color.

"Tonight, I am meeting with my boyars. I am sure that you will know some of them. I request your presence at my side."

The hand moved from her face, running softly down her throat immediately causing her skin to pucker before he drew away.

"So much time alone is not good for a young woman after all, leads to strange thoughts, and dreams."

Leaning closer so that Eveline leaned further toward the window behind her, multi-colored hues displaying her concern for the position clearly.

"I would suggest you should not dwell on such things, they have been known to drive even the strongest men mad."

And with that, he was gone, the in prominent pressure lifting from her skin and senses. With his promise, he informed her that he would see her in the matter of hours.

Oh, and make sure she was to receive a cloak, it did not look like the rain would let up soon.


	8. Chapter 8

The second night we were meant to dine together, was considerably more of a social occasion. She'd nearly felt tears prick at her eyes at the realization that every single one of these people there would talk to her if she put herself out as wanting to be talked to. This was so normal that it was more like a dream rather than what she used to know of reality.

There was, however, a great deal of strangeness to it. Firstly, Eveline did not arrive with the Count, nor see the count for the first hour of mingling before the feast which was apparently late. And secondly, though not second in level of importance, was that Vladimir had decreed that supper would not be held in his own abode. An hour she rode in a stagecoach which appeared to go nowhere except darkness, until in the clearing of the thickest forest, a castle not nearly as elaborate as the one he lived in, appeared to her like a beacon.

Standing amidst the people, who in spite of not having yet been fed, were chatting amicably among one another. It was amazing to consider that each of them were below the Prince, and yet, she found them twice or even three times their rulers age. The thought caused the lightest of smiles to appear on her full lips. Leaning back into the wall, it was a great weight lifted off a slender frame to not have to consider vengeance even just for a moment.

Her solitude did not last long for she soon felt a presence, and turning before he even had the chance to speak, her form had already recoiled. Along with the extremely negative emotions that pounded into her form every time the Impaler was near, there was also the agitation that he had to appear in that very moment. But her breathy greeting was lost in confusion as she met eyes that were similar, thought not utterly identical, to that she had been expecting. So instead of allowing the stranger a 'hello' to her, or her hello still holding onto her lips, the incredulous female inquired.

"Who are you?"

The man's greeting fell of a now smiling mouth, his eyes crinkling up and sparkling in a way she would have never seen his near doppelganger do. She noted the differences now, between the count and this man. The count was taller, while the guest was of wider shoulders and none of the feminity that could be seen in the other's face (only in certain lights, of course). The near offensive tone she'd had in demanding his name hadn't offended the other, his head tilting.

"I am of relation to who I think you're mixing me up with."

The blush, familiar from her life before the Prince, felt especially hot on her face this night.

"Oh, I'm sorry, you look so much like him. A brother? I think that I heard he had a brother."

Unbeknownst to her, it was this doubt and lack of knowledge of her father's Murderer, that would cause the next events to unfold. It was also her doubt that sealed a portion of her doom, for this would mean an easier job for the person still smiling at her sweetly. Such a kind face, one that he was going to attempt to use in no way but to harm.

"Yes, I am Radu. Though I haven't spoken to my brother in a long time…We have many differences."

From there the chat was smooth and relatively easy. What she saw as resemblances before were now something that seem to further distance this man from his brother. It was hard to imagine that they were anything alike at all.

"So…How is that you have come to know, the Great Impaler? There is talk of him holding a woman prisoner, would you be her?"

For a moment, she felt truth nearly escape her lips. So desperately needed to be recognized. But this form before her was a brother to a demon whose death she had planned in countless of different ways. Besides, it would be the perfect way to build the lie and gain the horrid Prince's trust if his own brother was to tell how highly she spoke of him.

"Do you think a guest would be allowed to attend such a marvelous party? No, I'm sure that's what he wanted to disprove by inviting me here."

As she knew he would, Eveline was already planning the response to his next inquiry before he even said it.

"So what is your opinion of him, or your relation? If you don't mind me asking of course."

Unable to think of the Impaler even as she lied, her mind strayed far, thinking of nothing to displease her as she spoke so that he would not see the farce hidden in her eyes.

"He is truly something special. I've come to hold nothing but respect and love for him."

Radu's eyebrows raised in mild surprise. Leaning closer to her as if exchanging secrets, his voice respectful, but full of eager curiousity.

"But…Did he not kill your father?"

The question caught her off guard. She had not known that it would be so well talked of. The next facades caught in her throat.

"Oh…"

The soft noise was accompanied by all of the air escaping from her lungs. Attempting to gather her thoughts and stem the sudden tears that flowed without her knowledge and much against her discretion.

"Well I…"

Quickly, her mind searched for the explanation for her tears. There was no way he would not find out her act if she spoke frankly. But if she lied, it would not fit the sudden brine falling from her eyes. So perhaps with a bit to much force, she grabbed onto Radu's firm upper arm, biting on her lip before continuing.

"It is..Impossible to describe my life with my father and family"

This was true, and for a moment she was able to contain herself. Though the next falsehoods caused her to tremble with the mere dishonesty shaking her frame.

"There was no one I hated more than my father, but inwardly I still loved my mother and could not leave her to that awful creature! You must please understand me, I tried to keep my family together and I know I am a sinner for saying this…"

Her voice trailed off, and she hope that his concerned calculating eyes took her feigned guilt and hatred as a reason for the tears.

"But I am glad he's dead."

The strangled whisper had barley escaped her throat. And bless him, like the good soul he was, her heart leapt when he took her into his arms. For a moment after her tears dammed themselves into her eyes, there was a moment of awkwardness, the hollow feeling resulting in the further damage of her soul sinking in. His arms didn't falter, and trying to find an appreciative way to get him off of her, she was thankful for the chime alerting the company of their prince. With happy sighs and a unanimous bow that Radu and Eveline had to part for, they all started to fill into the dining hall. It was a feast in memory of Vladimir's late father, and meant to be a happy occasion despite the fact that she was sure many of these noble men, like her father, had something to deal with it. Still, she turned with good words in mind of the late Dracul, to Radu. And found him gone.

The puzzlement of the sudden empty air left her wanting for some way to ascertain that he had been real in the first place. Assuming that perhaps he may have already retired with the rest of the guests seem unlikely, but decidedly more likely than just leaving, she made her way there as well. During the few steps she found her eyes wondering, half expecting the prince to find her personally. Though sitting down at the table without even so much of a glance from him, she found herself faced with the realization that his thoughts did not rotate mostly around her, as her thoughts did him. Granted, she would not wish for his thoughts on her, and the notions she had for him were far from pleasant.

Yet even this banquet could take one's mind off of murder, and if one found themselves not charmed by the food and company in and of itself, the heavy wine would certainly do the trick. She had a silver goblet, soon filled twice more, and was feeling properly warmed and only a touch dizzy. Never one to dally in the possible pleasure of intoxication, this was a true representation of how the change had become her this past month. It wasn't just her, however, even the women of the family's were laughing much louder than normal after the first glass. As time led on, she did not see one person up to their full wits. Granted, she wasn't feeling like a genius herself either

The conversation was light and thoughtful, her laugh surprising her with the ferocity of such an emotion. Still, when she did dare to glance up to the head of the table where Radu was meant to be seated, she found no one but the Count who looked as if she'd called his name. Even the warmth of wine could not hold off such a still as one got from such a stare. As if a signal had been sounded, his lean body folded with the intent to stand, her eyes quickly went back to the food, suddenly looking grotesque to her under the candlelight. With dread knowing where his gliding feet had been headed there was no unexpected thrill when the cold hand laid on her shoulder. Announcing the company, who had fallen silent due to the Prince's rising, that dessert would soon be out and he had to walk off the heavy meal, he then held out the same hand for her to hold.

The uncustomary formality was no doubt in need of the many forty pairs of eyes that watched, though hooking her arm with Vladimir served no human comfort. Attempting to match his quiet evenly with her own. Upon exiting the lavished home, however, his nod to the man who was lingering outside the house and party stirred her senses. Through the intoxicated haze she recognizes the strangeness of him locking the door behind them, and once they were several moments away from the exit she turned to her company slightly as they walked.

"What did he lock the doors for?"

Until she'd risen, Eveline hadn't realized the extent of the drink. Her tongue was heavy with the toxin, and her legs felt unresponsive, never had such a heavy drink been had by her right. In spite of the utter revulsion of her arm on his, only minutes in her walk did she feel unstable enough to physically not want to let go. If he noticed any of these signs, he gave no real notion in his answer.

"I have to make sure that my guests don't try to escape their dessert."

The sincerity covered up the sinister tone, and not in the proper mind to question any information, her eyes traveled up to the moon. A general feeling of strangeness came over her, tugging at her sleeve with it's want for attention.

"But why did you take me on a walk?"

He gave the lightest of smirks, unseen to her, though his eyes never wandered far from the pale woman's face, hers didn't flinch from the stars filtered through the trees.

"Well I wanted to see what you would look like under such a wonderful moon."

This time, he did glance upwards. Their walk had slowed now, having already strayed much from where they were meant to reside. Not sensing the patronizing tone in his voice this time, her head fell forward to look at the monster with heavy suspicion. The bland look he returned to her suited the tone of what he spoke next,

"Were you enjoying the little party?"

Forgetting herself for a moment, Eveline rocked back slightly before nodding.

"Yes…"

Her voice was softer now. She felt indescribably sleepy, and warm.

"I much like your brother, he seemed like a good brother."

There was a pause, and with amusement, he regarded it must be the drink to make this woman talk so.

"Eveline, you are confused. I only have one brother and he would not be here tonight."

The words brought on a scowl, though she had to remind herself to open her eyes again, having found solace in the darkness behind her eyelids for just a moment.

"No…No. His name was…Radu? Radu, I believe, and he was very nice to me."

The smile immediately faded from the Count, his face becoming a nearly indescribable white, hardening like the bone color it represented. The shift did not escape her notice entirely, though the more accurate reason to turn to find the face near her would be that, fearfully speaking, she found everything around her to be darkening. This was at the point where she saw the barest of the most horrifying faces she'd ever seen. It couldn't possibly belong to a man, no, a demon looked at her. A demon with red eyes and hair that seemed to move of it's own accord and a deep gash of a mouth. Almost crying out at the near sight, this was soon deemed impossible by the backward motion she was forced to participate it. Slammed up against the tree, she felt the splinters bite into her skin where the outside of her elbow first made contact. The slip of her own blood soon blossomed on the delicate skin of her upper arm, though hardly a comparable concept of the force of a demon putting his body over yours with his hand at her throat.

"What did he say to you, **what did you say to HIM?" **

The roar that echoed made her eyes widen, though her head swooned. Her body felt far away, as if she'd fallen off the ledge that held her to herself, and now watched as she continued to get smaller. The fear was ever present, even though she now fought to see him, she desperately clawed at her throat for the soon need for oxygen which he hadn't thought she'd need in her answer, so great was his fury.

Upon this realization, he thrust her against the tree, stars blooming in a now dark vision. Only shadows and sparks met her even with the pain of the strike upon her cheek.

"Idiot, you drunken **whore!"**

The words didn't matter, all she knew is that she was scrambling to the point that she hoped was meant to lead her upright. Before she even straightened, she'd broken out into a run, nearly falling into the pieces of vegetation, their spiny branches reaching out with ghostly fingers to take hold of her hair and dress. Oh god, any moment her body nearly toppled, she expected to feel a jolt as she woke in her bed, but instead, the bitter taste of dirt entered her lips, no doubt breaking her bottom one which would explain the copper taste intruding onto her taste buds.

The screaming met her ears as if through water, most of her body being numb and, detachedly she realized that this could not be from any normal drink. Groaning, Eveline realized with a dim shock that was not her throat that the source of shrieking came from. It appeared one woman had avoided the poisoned wine.

With irony, she felt herself smirk lightly into what she thought was the grass, the heavy earth filtering through her nose. It was ironic that he got her with the same intentions that she meant to do him away with. Though, she doubted it was the same sort of poison, she certainly no longer felt her body. Perhaps her father had been right. In that as long as she could see the dead of this world, she was tied to this world with them. Well, that would be all right with her, if that was to be it. Bitterly, she felt herself being raised and surprise made it's way through the hum of her mind for a moment. Her body was still being lifted to the Lord above? Was it supposed to feel like this? Well, there was no way of knowing given she hadn't yet died before.

It was a harsh check to come to terms with when the jolt of arms felt roughly around her, the earth now gone from her grasp. Struggling, she dug her nails into the pale arm, stronger than any man's she'd felt to this day.

"N-no…no."

Rolling her head, as he tossed her into his arms, ignoring her struggles as if she were nothing more than a newly borne cat, she caught a glimpse with now open eyes the intense brightness against the forest air. It appeared she'd made it to the house after all. The screaming from inside had stopped, perhaps they had all become susceptible to the wine. It was only then, that she realized, that through the bars which covered the now broken windows, a fire raged inside the home where the previous feast lay.

This would be the last alarm she would sustain with a tired mind, her feet now dragging through the dead leaves of the forest floor as she felt herself hoisted into what was probably a carriage.

She dreamed of walking, there was this indescribably long path, and behind her she kept hearing someone call her name. Though everytime she turned, she found nothing. Suddenly, the ground gave her a vicious shake. Knocking her to the ground. From then on, the earth began to quake as if it were trying to rid itself of some great chill. With a shout, she awoke from this state to find herself in a carriage, though not seated, she existed on a bench in the back nothing like any stage coach she'd ever known. Almost screaming in the immediate confusing terror of wakening, her fists balled up in some meager defense for what she saw. Radu.

The dizziness of her head not to mention the jostling it was going through due to some travel over obviously bumpy roads, only furthered at the sinking realization that her hands were tied firmly behind her back.

Radu watched her struggle with it silently, and she could recognize him, despite the strange garb he wore. After a moment, she recognized the Turkish emblem with shock, the symbol of her nation's greatest enemy.

"I don't…understand…"

The weak voice was simply mystified. And giving her a cold stare he'd only finally graced her after a profound quiet.

"It was a good thing you drank that whine, given the break in my finger now, I'm sure you would have put up a greater fight."

Her mouth opened indignantly, but he plowed on.

"Furthermore, he pulled you out of there even after drugging you."

A wicked grin covered his face, even if he was on the ground of a carriage with the a now labeled prisoner, the man's bloodline never showed more clearly.

"Vladimir must really like you."

Moving toward her carefully now, no matter the vicious ride they were both undergoing at the moment.

"Do you think that he'll make you his bride, that he'll shower you with presents and given you royal sons?"

The patronizing tone did not escape her. Though she was quite unable to agree to such a statement, and her hesitance was weighing heavily on what to say, her chin held high.

"If he must, Vladimir will send out the entire Walachian armies for me."

She declared icily, though inwardly watching his face for the reveal of her mistake or well played ace. Comfortably, the grin never leaving his face, the firstborn monstrosity of the Dracul family leaned his back against the wood once more.

"We'll count on that, pet, thank you so very kindly for the tip."

…

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